go lift your sails up (for one last swell)
by Genie Este
Summary: She tastes like Sam, like he remembers her and not like six months dead, and the relief blooms so sharp in his chest that he can hardly breathe.


Daniel sees her first.

They're standing in a corridor (the complex is perfectly familiar, but the reality is not), surrounded by other teams – their teams, the ones that don't belong, the few that had survived with them. They'd heard the klaxons go off a while ago, but Jack had assumed that it was one of this world's SG teams returning from who knows where.

Amazingly, he was wrong, because he watches Daniel's face fall blank, is startled when Daniel lurches forward with her name on his lips. Jack turns, and there she is, walking just ahead of Teal'c – jesus, Teal'c's with her – and all the color rushes back into his world.

He manages to find out where she is in the mass of people – so many more men and women alive and whole than he ever could have hoped, she led them all here – back in the infirmary where partitioned areas lead into bathrooms for patients. He'd gone directly to the other O'Neill – hadn't even been subtle about his reasons – and managed to endure the dark look of something unidentifiable O'Neill had given him with the answer.

Daniel was with Teal'c. Jack had left (after he'd nearly hugged the life out of the big guy - he is too happy that Teal'c is alive to be embarrassed by his public display of affection) with a promise to Daniel that he would bring Sam back with him, and he will.

He will.

There are fewer people back here, and although he raises the eyebrows of a few nurses, he finds the bathroom he wants, opens the unlocked door (he has to believe she knew he was coming), and closes it directly behind him.

And it's her.

Sam had turned on the shower; steam was rising over and around the flimsy curtain that was half-pulled to hold the water back. She must have just lifted her shirt over her head, because it's still in her hands.

He can't say a word, can't force even one syllable past his lips, because she's right there in front of him: skinny, dirty, and not dead. She makes a sound, slight and sad, and then the shirt is on the floor and she's in his arms.

He pulls her as close as he possibly can, flattens his hands against the cool skin of her bare back, down the slight ridges of her spine and back up again, over the hair that is so much longer than he ever remembers it being. He shoves his face into her neck, a way to connect with her and hide his burning eyes.

"Jack," she breathes into his chest. "I'm okay, I'm here."

Her words send his body vibrating, desperate to prove them. He brings his hands up to her face to pull her back only far enough for him to kiss her. She tastes like Sam, like he remembers her and not like six months dead, and the relief blooms so sharp in his chest that he can hardly breathe.

She's bending backwards with his kiss, slipping her fingers under his tattered belt to keep purchase against him. It reminds his body of the barrier between them, and his hands move of their own accord to her own belt, undoing it in jerky, shaky movements.

She says yes, almost a whisper. "Yes," she says again, louder this time, and starts working at his clothes as best as she can, maneuvering around his maneuvers.

He kneels, bringing the rest of her clothing with him, helping her step out of them.

On his way back up he presses his mouth to her belly, just above the curly hair between her legs, feels his body answer her gasp.

He meets her mouth again, pulls away to take off his shirt, and kisses her again. Her hands slide down his chest and his skin tingles in their wake. Soon his pants are gone and she's pulling him back toward the shower and under the water.

The sting of the heat is a surprise, but a welcome one. He moves his palms over her shoulders, arms, breasts, hips, helping to wash off the dirt and grime collected from wherever she was all this time, letting the caress and her sighs comfort him along with the mantra repeating in his head. _Not dead, not dead, not dead, alive, alive, alive._

She's moving against him, like a wave. Jack sends his fingers to heat of her, needing the sound of her voice and the surge of her hips against his arm, and she gives him both.

She lifts her leg, curling her calf around his thigh insistently. "Jack."

Any amount of time could go by and he would still understand her language, he thinks. It's a quick thought, because then she's wrapping her legs around him as he leverages her against the wall.

And then he's inside her. He groans her name, tries to be gentle, to slow down. She's a tide, a force of nature sweeping him away with her.

"I'm sorry, I can't wait," he grinds out, muffled against her shoulder.

"It's okay," Sam replies by tightening her legs around him, bucking her hips against his. "Don't."

So he doesn't.

The water is still warm when they come back down. It's a luxury that Jack still has troubling fathoming after so long without any at all.

Sam is still holding tight to his shoulders, and he relishes the weight. He helps her slide her feet the floor, but she makes no move to move away and he doesn't either, despite the twinge in his knees and back telling him he needs to. They're long since soaked, and probably need to wash up and dress (it's only a matter of time before word of his presence here with Sam spreads and someone comes looking), but Jack just can't bring himself to do it.

Sam rubs her cheek again his shoulder and sniffs. Jack doesn't know if she's crying, wouldn't blame her if she was. "Welcome home," he says, meaning it despite the irony of the words.

He feels a smile against his skin, and then it's gone. "There's so much I should tell you."

He nods and brushes his lips against her temple. "You will. You can tell all of us. Later."

She looks up – and his throat closes up at seeing her again this way, after so long, after saying goodbye.

She smiles and lays her head back down on his shoulder. It grounds him.

Not long later, they all arrive together to a briefing with their counterparts and the General Hammond of this reality to figure out how to get them all back to theirs. (If Daniel and Teal'c notice his and Sam's wet hair, they don't say a word.)

Jack's pretty sure Daniel holds Sam's hand under the table the whole time. He's coming up with ways to tease them about it later.

Sam explains that getting them back to their reality isn't the problem – it's what they'll do when they get there. There's no guarantee that their Earth is still survivable.

After that, Jack starts to tune out, partly because he trusts her and Daniel to take care of the details, or alert him if they can't. Mostly it's because Jack's no longer worried about getting by.

The world already ended for Jack. And then it suddenly, inexplicably started back up again. If he can survive that, he figures he could probably survive anything.

They're together. They'll be fine.


End file.
